Postdiluvian
by Bel Vezer
Summary: Sometimes the aftermath is worse than the storm. Luby, post 21 Guns.
1. Some Rain Must Fall

**"Postdiluvian"** - Sometimes the aftermath is worse than the storm.

This story can be read alone but is best if read in conjunction with LLF's fic, "Monitors and Measured Breaths." Hers is written from the perspective of Luka whereas this fic is from Abby's point of view.

This chapter begins mid-way through the season twelve finale, '21 Guns.'

Neither I nor LLF own ER. That privilege is Michael Crichton's.

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_The Day is cold and dark and dreary_  
_It rains and the wind is never weary  
Into each life some rain must fall  
Some days must be dark and dreary_  
** - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

It's stopped. The guns, the noise. All of it. Thick silence. I'm almost afraid to look. To see the damage. Glass. Lots of glass. All over the floor. Ouch. In my hand. So very quiet. Distorted, like a kaleidoscope. But it's okay. He kicks. The baby's okay. I'm fine. We're fine. And I'm up. And slowly the noise is returning.  
Haleh? Where'd you come from? Is my head okay? It's bleeding. Yes, I'm fine. The baby's moving so we're fine. A little worse for the wear but fine. Jerry? Jerry is not fine. Somebody should get Luka.  
Oh, Jerry. He's tough. Doesn't look too bad. Good. Luka. I need to find Luka. I should apologize for this morning.  
Damn, the baby's active. He gives me a kick in the kidney. Sorry little guy. It scared me too. But we're okay. Just hang in there until we find your daddy. It'll be okay. We're fine.  
And I'm in a whirlwind. Jerry's not so great. I manage to find a steri strip for my head. Superficial, not so bad. Throbs, but hey, at least I'm not the one shot. That would suck. Sorry Jerry. No offense.

The needle in my hand is growing. Elongating. Twisting. I can't get it in.

I'm fine. Just bumped my head. No worries. Dizzy. I'm dizzy. Spinning like a merry go round. This room is a merry go round. I'm on a striped pony. Morris is a clown. The x rays, the music. Spinning, floating.  
No.

Focus.

Focus .. focus … focus. A magnifying glass. Focused. Distorted and huge. Growing smaller. Catching fire. An ant in the sun. We're all ants. Just little ants. Milling about. Useless. Trying to save his life. Can we? We must. Must fight the fog to help him. Fog. Like wild cotton candy come to life.

God that's a lot of blood. Blood. Bleeding. Blood. It reeks of death. Focus and help. I'll just run next door. Got it.

Jesus Christ.

Tearing.  
I'm ripping. All of me is ripping.  
I'm being shredded from the inside out. A blender tearing at my gut. My soul.  
And all I see is red.  
Red.  
Red spots flying around the room. Red. Crimson.  
On my hand. Hand. My hand. My legs. Thick, deep. Hot. It's seeping through my jeans scalding my thighs.  
No.

It's too soon.

Too soon.  
And the cotton candy is back. Thick, dark cotton candy, trying to suffocate me. I won't let it take me.No.

Stop.

Too soon.  
And there's coldness. A chill. Worse than the heat. Much, much worse. Cold. Frigid. Death.  
Go away. But the dark is so inviting. Like refusing chocolate. It's so hard to say no. To fight temptation. I've never had much willpower.  
And I'm slipping. Giving in. Falling for the seduction of the dark. Because it's so inviting and I'm just so sleepy.

Swaying, swirling darkness.  
A searing endless gaping hole of pain swallowing me whole. And I'm falling and swimming, closer to the surface. Closer to lucidness. The closer I get the more I want to return. Return to the empty dark depths that held me. Because this pain? I can't.Can't. I'm ripping. All of me is being torn apart. Shredded by fierce animals. Devoured to the bone.  
The pain. Tremendous. Too much. I can't.  
But that voice. Incessant. Won't let me be. Won't let me sink back to the weightlessness. The bliss that was nothing.  
And I'm angry. Angry at the voice. Angry at the pain. Because I want to sleep. To be empty. To feel, nothing.  
Nothing.  
Because anything is better than this.  
I'm burning from the inside out.

"Abby. Abby, I need you stay with me. Abby."

Is that my name? I don't even know anymore. Nothing matters. Nothing. Except the pain. The searing in my gut. In my head. The throbbing. The feeling of being ripped apart. Sliced into pieces.

"Abby. Open your eyes."

And I'm opening them. I don't want to. But every word that is spoken to me brings me closer to the surface. I want to scream. No whisper to let me be. Every word brings with it exponential pain.

"Abby, I need you to focus on breathing. We're gonna take care of you. It'll be okay."

Breathe? I can't breathe. It hurts too much. Every breath takes so much effort. I can't see. I can't breathe. Just let me be. Let me … fall. Such brightness. Light. In my eyes.

"Pupils, equal and responsive."

"Blood pressure, 80/30."

Chattering. Voices.

Cold.

Icy metal on my legs. I can feel my legs. I had forgotten I had a body outside of my pain. My face. An oxygen mask on my face.Everything is still blurry. Distorted. Fuzzy. Colors faded and mixing together.  
And the hands. Hands on me. Stop.  
My jeans. Off. Hands on my legs. My thighs. Bending, touching. My arm. IV?  
Suffocating. I'm suffocating. I can't see. I can't hear. I can't breathe.

But I can feel.

Feel the tearing. The cold. The burning. The icy equipment prying me open. Between my legs. Between my legs?  
So wet.  
Wet. Sticky. Hot. Liquid. Blood.  
I'm bleeding. Bleeding out. Dying. It's no use. There's no movement. I need to tell them. To let me die. There's no movement. No kicks. No squirms. He's gone. I know. And without him. Her … there's nothing. It's no use. Not worth their time. Their effort.

But I'm trapped.   
Trapped inside this shell of a body that's betraying me. Us. And I can't speak. Can barely moan.  
But I'm seeing more clearly. The lights. The shapes. They're more distinct. Ray. Ray is talking. Muttering words. And I can feel his hand inside me and it hurts. Hurts so much. I want to scream. To yell. To get out. Out of me. Out of my body. It's too late.

Please.

But he won't stop talking and prodding. And when he finally takes his hand out, I can see it covered in blood.  
My blood.  
Mine. No. Not mine. His. Hers. Either. Or. Both. It doesn't even matter anymore.  
And there's Haleh. More talking. In voices unfamiliar. And Kerry. Rushing about.  
All covered in blood. My blood. I didn't know I had so much. So much inside me. Not anymore. It's gone.  
Leaving.  
Leaving me empty.  
Devoid of life.  
Everything.

The walls are spinning. Beige blending,mixing. But no, it's me that's moving.  
The gurney. I'm being rolled away. Where? The morgue. No. Not yet.  
More voices. So many voices. Deep and dark, light and soft.  
Too many. I can't distinguish. There is no logic. No comprehension. I feel like a child. No, like an animal.  
Unable to speak.  
To communicate.  
To understand.  
And then there's a voice. A voice I do know. Can't forget. Never will.

His.

Luka.  
I can hear the accent. The love. The pain. In his bodiless voice.  
Am I hallucinating? No, for the moment I am lucid.  
I know. I know him.  
And I'm right. Here he is. His green eyes dark and grey. A storm beneath the surface. He's angry. Furious. At whom?  
I'm sorry, Luka. I'm sorry.  
A tender hand on my forehead.Hushed words.  
And I find my voice.

"I fell." I mutter, trying to explain.

"I know." He murmurs.

And now the pain is intensifying. Crushing me. Ravaging my body.

"Oh god …" I manage to moan as I inadvertently bring my knees closer.

Excruciating.  
Consuming me completely.  
I'm drowning in pain.

"Let's count." He mutters calmly. "One … two … three."

I can't count. I can barely breathe. The acute burning is all encompassing.

"It's too early." I manage to whimper as the intensity abates ever-so-slightly.

Much too soon.  
He mutters something about the great NICU team.

"It's too soon." I repeat. I need them to understand. NICU or not, I still have ten weeks left.

Ten weeks.  
Two months.  
And it's all too much. Too much.  
The pain in my heart nearly matches that in my gut. The searing sensation refuses to wane and I can feel hot liquid sliding down my cheek.

"I want to be awake." I tell him.

Plead.

I have to be there when it happens. When they take him.  
If I slip back again, I'll never come back.  
I can feel it. I know.  
I need to be awake.

And then I'm in a box and he's being pushed away and I want to yell at him not to leave me.  
I'm so scared.  
I'm lost. Lost in myself. Without any understanding.  
I'm stranded without a way of getting home. He is my way home. And he's gone.  
The doors close and I'm alone. Alone despite the fact that Ray and Kerry are in the room. I hadn't noticed. The vacancy is palpable. I can hear the loneliness like a thunder in the distance. It's getting closer. Every moment brings with it more frigid isolation and I'm slipping, sinking into the abyss.  
But before I can return to the empty yet welcomed darkness there are more lights. More voices, willing me to stay.  
Stay.  
I wish I could.  
And there is more prodding.  
More metal. More needles.  
And blood.  
Always blood. It's the only constant now. The only thing I can rely on.  
And there is rushing, but I can't follow. Everything is happening slowly. I know my eyes deceive me. At least I'm conscience of that.  
The colors are too dark. The voices too deep. It's a theme park at night.  
And it's all so familiar and foreign at the same time. And there's a sheet around me, and people in robes. Like priests at my funeral.  
And now I know. I'm not at my own funeral. No. Though I may be soon.

Surgery.

There she is. Coburn. The one who always held your life in her hands. Months ago, I nearly gave her the power to take you away, and now she is. No, I want to scream. I changed my mind. I want to keep it. I want this baby. I really do. But nobody believes me and I'm suffocating.

Please.

And there he is, once again. I had lost hope that he would return. How ignorant I am. I recognize him despite the mask and the robe. His eyes, so filled with anger before are now brimming with fear and pain, mingled with something else … something I can't truly fathom or recognize. And he takes my hand and whispers in his language. And somehow I am soothed. I squeeze his hand before I realize that I can. I hadn't known I could move voluntarily. Every breath is such a chore, I had no idea I was capable of movement. He nods, understanding and explains.

"Abby, I'm here."

I know. It's all I ever needed to know.

"Abby. I'm performing a c-section to save your baby. Do you understand?" I try to nod. She tells me that I will feel pressure, and I do.

"NICU." I mutter to no one in particular. Luka nods and his eyes move towards the small group of people. I see familiar faces. Dr. Raab. And suddenly I'm stricken with fear. The onslaught of death had left me almost calm, accepting of my fate, but now, to see them, to see that there might be a chance. Hope. I'm scared. Their faces are somber and I can feel the pressure of her on my abdomen but for the first time in what feels like an eternity I'm not in pain. Not physically anyway. I can sense her struggling and I'm terrfied. Terrified of what she'll pull out. And then she does. He is. It's a he. Apparently. I still can't see. Or hear. Nothing. Just people bustling and voices murmuring and the fear returns, more severe than any pain. There is no cry. Not that I was expecting one. Or was I?

"APGAR?" I ask him desperately. It's all I can manage to mutter. He understands but is unwilling to share. His eyes are focused far away. Not on the baby, not on me. And his fear is mounting, crushing me under its weight.

"APGAR." I plead. Begging him. I need to know. Nothing is worse than not knowing. And then a nurse moves slightly and I see.

Blue.

Like a terribly stormy day. And utterly limp. Not even a twitch. Nor a breath.

And it's over.It's too late.  
The fear is gone.  
I'm alone. I'm empty. My hope, my life left with him and I can feel the darkness returning and Coburn shouts out a warning. Luka tries to speak to me, squeezing my hand, telling me to hold on.  
But I can't. I won't. There's no reason.  
I know what's happening. And I don't care. Not enough to fight it.

"DIC." I mutter, letting him know that I know. That it's okay.

I've lost every reason I ever had. And the darkness has never felt so welcoming. So much more inviting than the pain that awaits me on the outside. And as the shadows creep around me, I hear a voice exclaiming.

"We have a pulse!" As my own consciousness fades and I wonder if I've made a mistake.

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	2. Mist and Rain

**Sorry for the delay. It's all my fault, not LLF's. This is a short chapter but another is coming soon. Faster update this time, I promise.**

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_The day is done, and the darkness  
Falls from the wings of Night  
I see the lights of the village  
Gleam through the rain and the mist,  
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me  
That my soul cannot resist:  
A feeling of sadness and longing,  
That is not akin to pain,  
And resembles sorrow only  
As the mist resembles the rain_  
**- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

I wake up, dazed. My head is foggy and I feel as though I've been run over by a couple of trucks and then put through a blender. I hear my name and see Luka sitting by my bed. No, not my bed. A … hospital bed? And then I'm blindsided by the memories that are flying back to me.

Oh god.

"Push this when you need it." He murmurs and hands me the drug dispenser. I nod but I'm hardly listening.

"Luka … the baby." I mange to mutter. I need to know.

"He's holding on." He smiles sadly and pulls a small polaroid out of his pocket. He mentions something else but I'm temporarily deaf. All I can see is the hideous little creature in the photo in front of me.  
He's so tiny. So thin. Too young. Too fragile. Tears fill my eyes as the recognition sinks in.

I've failed him.

"He needs a name." I say, trying to change the subject. I need something concrete. Something I can control. A name I can control. And suddenly a thought comes to mind. Catholic school and Luka … and it all fits. Joseph - the patron saint of the dying. Because he _is_ dying. I can feel it. Joseph – the patron saint of fathers as well. Luka. Luka is a father. For some reason my fragmented thoughts seem logical.

"Joe …" I murmur, still staring at the awful picture. He nods, pleased at my decision.

"Josef Kovac." He states trying it out.

"It fits him." Well, at least I did one thing right. He leans forward and kisses my forehead. I feel my eyelids shut. I'm so very tired.

"Go back to sleep." He whispers as he caresses my face. I want to tell him I'm sorry. But I just nod. I don't have the energy to do anything else.

"I'll be back soon." He tells me as I try to ignore the discomfort in my sore body so I can rest. I take one last peek at the picture in my hand before I finally succumb to sleep.

_I'm in a forest of death. Running. Fleeing. But It gets closer, taunting me with Its proximity. I reach a precipice and below me there are children. Dying, drowning children. Drowning in a sea of thick, dark blood. And they're screaming. Screaming for my help and I'm frozen. Utterly statuesque. Unable to move. Barely breathe. And It's getting closer. I'm trapped. Between the lake of death and the danger behind me. It's closing in. I must decide. The fear mounting. Whether to jump or await my fate. And I'm screaming, begging for mercy and nobody is there except the moribund babies …_

And I'm awake, panting, sweating. Remembering. Reality is so much worse than the nightmare. I wish I could wake up from this living horror. I try to focus on my breathing. My whole body aches, as though every limb has been individual bruised and broken. Even so, it's nothing like before. I shudder thinking about it. Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. I can get through this. For him. But the throbbing seems to intensify and nausea washes over me in waves, worse than any morning sickness I ever had. I close my eyes, swallowing the bile building in my throat. This too shall pass.

"Abby?" Neela is in the doorway, looking at me worriedly. I must look like shit. I try to force a smile but the nausea forces it into a grimace.

"Abby are you in pain?" She asks kindly, sitting down on the bed next to me. My eyes are squeezed shut again and I nod. Pain. I feel as if I've never been without it. I hear her reaching for the med dispenser and I use every ounce of strength I have to reach out and stop her.

"No." I mutter through gritted teeth.

"Abby …" She is doubtful, her voice dubious and concerned.

"No narcotics." I manage to grunt as the nausea envelopes me and I know I'm going to be sick. She must notice the look on my face because she manages to reach for an emesis basin just in time. I'm surprised at how little actually comes out. But I can't focus on that for long because the nausea only seems to intensify. She calls for a nurse who checks my vitals in between attacks and looks at me with disdain when I repeat that I don't want drugs. But right now, it's the only thing I'm sure about. So she shakes her head and goes off to find Coburn. Bitch. Every subsequent heave brings with it a sensation much like being stabbed in the gut with a hot poker. I feel like I'm dying. And suddenly Luka is rushing to my side. I didn't even hear him come in.

"Dry heaves, mostly." Neela explains muttering that I've refused everything but vitamin B12.

"It's okay." He reassures me and feels my forehead, wondering aloud if I have a fever. I wouldn't be surprised. I feel like I'm on fire. Neela checks my chart and shakes her head. I try to catch my breath but I'm blindsided, yet again, but a violent wave of nausea.

"Oh god …" I murmur as I clutch the basin, squeezing my eyes shut waiting, hoping, praying for it to pass. Luka supports my back while I heave endlessly and patiently strokes my forehead as it slowly subsides. He tries to offer me the med dispenser and frowns when I shake my head.

"Abby, you have just had major abdominal surgery. You can't get through this without some pain meds." He lectures me softly. I want him to know, to understand but I'm just so tired and all I can do is shake my head. No. Our eyes meet and I think I see some understanding. Neela offers to inquire about non-narcotics. I readjust myself on the bed as the worst seems to be over now. I wince, feeling the tenderness in my lower abdomen. He insists on calling Coburn to make sure I haven't strained my stitches. Surprisingly enough, I haven't. I down a couple of extra strength Tylenol and I'm ready to crash. Luka pulls up one of those notoriously uncomfortable chairs and takes my hand in his. I concentrate on the comforting warmth of his skin and finally drift off into a not-so-restful sleep.

_This time the children are not in a sea of blood but in a prison of fire. Burning alive before my eyes and I'm unable to free them. They are screaming out my name, begging me to help them and I cannot. I'm shackled to the ground. Close enough to feel the heat of the flames but too far away to reach them. I'm pinned to the ground beneath my feet, unable to escape the horrid screams and the smell of burning flesh._

I awake to find Luka, snoring softly in the seat beside my bed. His hand is still in mine, his head awkwardly lolling to the side, his mouth parted, his breathes deep and even. Even as disheveled as he is, he looks beautiful.  
Oh, Luka.

His eyes flutter open and he catches me staring at him.

"You were snoring." I explain.

"I don't snore." He growls softly in his deep early morning voice.

"And who told you that particular fairy tale?" I tease, trying to smile. But he sees right through me.

"Are you hurting?" He asks me, somberly as he reaches up to carefully touch my face. He knows. I nod, slowly. I see his eyes flicker and his eyebrows furl, worriedly.

"I'm okay." I try to reconcile. But he knows. He always seems to know. I really need to work on my poker face. I shake my head when he reaches for the med dispenser.

"Abby …" He almost starts but thinks better of it. He knows I won't budge. As fierce as this pain is, I'm that much more stubborn than it.

"I want to go see him." I tell him, avoiding the ache in my gut.

"I don't know if you can just yet." He mutters, shifting the blankets around me. I take his hand in mine.

"Please, Luka." I beg him. The thought of him alone, defenseless, lying helplessly in one of those clear plastic cages, makes me shudder. I need to see him. My need to see him is more than any thirst I've ever experienced.

"Please make it happen." He gazes at me intently, as if trying to ascertain just how far I'm willing to take this and then he lowers his eyes before softly kissing me.

"I'll see what I can do." He murmurs, his breathe caressing my face. I close my eyes, as he kisses me once more and then he's gone and I'm left alone, yet again, with only my pain for company.

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	3. Death and Drowning

**Sorry for the delay. My only excuse is that I've moved cross country _twice_ since the last chapter. Our story veers away from the show now and takes a darker turn. It's more depressing than how TPTB wrote the show, but I think it's a little more true to life and more realistic to how the Luka and Abby characters have been portrayed up until now. Again, sorry for the delay. And thanks for the continued support.**

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_"They float upon the surface of the darkness in which I'm drowning."  
_- **Anne Rice**

I've managed to doze slightly, hovering precariously in the pseudo-sleep that prevents me from truly escaping the pain and am jolted immediately into consciousness the moment Luka enters the room. He was true to his word. Neela follows right behind him, with a wheelchair, presumably for me. Without a word he unfastens my catheter bag and sets it in my lap. I'm dismayed to see how little output I have and am immediately chastised by Luka for treating myself. I grin at him and without realizing it, I'm reaching my arms up to him like a child and he scoops me up and gently sets me in the chair. I'm glad when Neela tucks a sheet around me because I don't want them to see that my hands are shaking. I'm terrified. What of, I'm not exactly sure. All I know is that the dread is a weight in my otherwise empty belly.

I'm transfixed by monotony, unwilling to grasp what's really happening. I feel nothing as Luka washes my hands and Neela helps me into my robe. It's as though I'm watching myself through a one-way mirror, observing the shell that I have become. Everything is dulled. Veiled. Hidden. Even my thoughts are crisp and curt.

And there she is: Dr. Raab. In front an incubator. She looks at me and smiles. A sympatheic smile full of pity and regret. I want to punch her in the face.

"Hello Abby. I understand there's a patient here you want to see?" I'm not in the mood for niceties nor is her patronizing tone appealing in the least. I try to remember if I disliked her this much when I did my rotation. But then I see him. Luka wheels me as close as he can and there he is.

My son.

I take him in. The shields for his eyes. The tubes coming out of his body. The little belly that moves up and down so quickly and painfully. His toes. So miniscule and precise. He reminds me of a baby rabbit or mouse. Naked and hairless and blind. Barely alive.

"He's so small ..." I finally manage to say before I realize how stupid I sound.

"He's perfect." Luka murmurs and kisses my forehead. I pull my hand away from his. Perfect, my ass. Show me perfection and I'll show you how far away this child is from that. This child is hours old and already he's battered and bruised. The match hasn't even started and he's already taken several punches. He's so weak ... and ugly and scrawny and dying.

My son is dying.

I listen to Dr. Rabb list off his stats, his oxygen level and the meds he's on. I get it and I don't at the same time. The doctor in me understands what she's saying but none of it makes sense because he's not just a patient. He's mine. Mine. My baby. And my knowing how he's satting isn't going to change the fact that my baby is lying helpless in an incubator at the mercy of God.

Ha. God. That's it.

I shake my head. I don't know if I can do this. Watch him die.

"He's too small." I repeat. It's what I know. He's just too small.

"He has everything." Luka continues. "Ten fingers ... ten toes ... ears, nose, eyes."

So what? I should be grateful he doesn't have electrodactyly?

"A possible heart murmur, jaundice ... a chance of cerebral palsy, apnea ... _if _he lives." I don't need him sugarcoating. I know my baby's dying.

"He has a fighting chance." He's trying to reassure me. Or maybe he's trying to reassure himself. I don't know. I'm transfixed by the creature in front of me. Despite the tubes and tape and machines. Underneath it all, I can see a glimpse of myself in him. A glimpse of Luka.

"He has two parents who love him and will know how to take care of him." Luka speaks earnestly. And then I realize he's waiting and I hear his conviction waver.

"Right?" He asks. He needs to know I'm on board. That we will do this together. I gaze at my son for another moment, trying to discern between the machines and the baby who needs me. Finally, he locks eyes with me and I nod. Right.

"I think I need to go to my room now." I murmur quietly, stealing a last glimpse at my child. Luka nods, and I try to ignore the crestfallen expression on his face. But I can't stay here any longer. There's a pervasive scent of death and dying that suffocates me. I'm drowning in it.

"Okay." He says and then leans down to whipser something to the baby before he wheels me out. I want to ask what he said but I'm afraid. Afraid that if I speak the force of my words will shatter any resolve that's in me. Afraid that maybe Luka's just as lost as I am. That we're both just as terrified that he's going to die. That no matter how strong he seems, he too, is ready to crumble.

The walk back to my room seems interminable. We pass another woman in a wheelchair and I wonder if I look as disheveled and pathetic as she. Probably more so. I feel completely and utterly drained. Of energy, of hope, of life. I feel ... empty. Devoid of something ... everything that matters. And I'm so numb, that the realization barely registers. Luka and I haven't spoken a word since we left the NICU. When I'm settled in bed again, I take a deep breath. I need to know. To know if I'm as empty as I feel.

"What happened to me Luka?" My voice barely wavers. I hope I don't sound as terrified as I feel. He looks at me, his green eyes darkening with ... regret? He hesitates, but finally he takes my hand in his and speaks.

"Janet had trouble getting the bleeding under control." He drops his gaze and pauses.

"She had to perform a hysterectomy." He murmurs softly, his eyes meeting mine again. The word echoes in my head. Over and over again. Ricocheting without mercy.

"Everything else is still inact. You'll still be able to nurse him." He continues in a futile attempt to lessen the blow. My ears are ringing as though I've been beaten. A chill goes through my body. My throat tightens, constricting painfully. I'm drowning. His eyes are on mine, filled with ... pain and something else. Pity? I can't. Can't face that. I close my eyes and pull my hand from his and turn away. A chill has taken over me. With intense trepidation, I slide my hand under the sheets to feel ... gauze. Just gauze and sutures. And pain. Nothing else. I struggle to swallow, I can feel my eyes stinging and then I feel him. His warms hands and he turns my face and his lips are on my eyelids. Tender, soft. Healing.

"I almost lost you again, Abby." He murmurs softly and I hear his voice quaver.

"This time it would have been forever. I almost lost you." My eyes are open now, and I see he's trying to so very hard to keep it together. Oh Luka. And I feel so selfish. I struggle to swallow, to breathe, and I bring my hand to his cheek. The world has been so unfair to him. So very unfair. He leans forward, burying his face in my neck. Like a child, desperate for comfort. I caress his head and hold him as he sobs. Deep, grief filled sobs that betray his raw vulnerability.

"Shhh. It's okay." I croon, fighting back tears myself.

"It's okay." He pulls back finally. I wipe away the damp hair from his forehead.

"It's really okay." I murmur, hoping I sound convincing enough. I kiss him, and smile bravely. I need it to be the truth.

"I think I want to go back to sleep for a while." I tell him as I wipe the tears from his face. A tsunami of exhaustion has washed over me. He kisses me and nods, a brief smile on his face and tells me he'll be back, he just needs to check up on the ER. I had forgotten about that other world. I close my eyes. There is something else I had forgotten. Something very important. I push aside my fatigue and try to focus on that and not on the longing for my vacant belly.

"Luka ...?" I murmur, trying to stay awake. I've never felt so powerless. So out of control. So very much like I'm drowning and my arms are tied. But this is something I can do.

"Right here." He murmurs, and touches my arm.

"I need a breast pump." I mutter, closing my eyes again.

"Will you tell them that for me?"

He nods, and turns out the lights. I'll worry about it in the morning.

* * *

**I know it's hard to believe given my track record, but I swear that reviews help me update faster. ; )  
**


End file.
